


Falling (in love)

by Flammenkobold



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, based on the coming storm, canon differgence for ep91, claimed by a different power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-18 23:58:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16129355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/pseuds/Flammenkobold
Summary: The last person John expects to open the door at the address Jude Perry gave him is Martin Blackwood.





	Falling (in love)

When he knocks on door at the address Jude Perry has given him, the last person he expects to open said door is Martin Blackwood. Martin, who he hasn’t seen in months, not after he came into the institute a few months ago, a letter tightly clutched into his hand and telling John that he was leaving. He hadn’t looked quite well back then, but John had been relieved to have one suspect less in his vicinity and too paranoid to focus more on him.

“John?” Martin says, voice raised as if he is as much surprised to see John as John is at seeing him.

“Martin- what, what are you doing here?”

Martin blinks slowly at him. “I live here?”

John feels like cursing, through the relief and confusion of seeing Martin. If he burned his hand for nothing and loses the only other lead he has-

“Oh- I didn’t know. I thought-” he stops squints at the piece of paper in his unburnt hand that Jude has given him.

“You weren’t looking for me then,” Martin says almost matter-of-factly. The look he gives him makes John feel mildly guilty.

“I- sorry, no.”

“Martin? Who’s there?” A voice asks from within the house and behind Martin a short man with dirty blond hair appears, squinting at John.

“Uhm.... my old boss? John, this is Mike. Mike – John,” Martin introduces them as Mike slips one arm around his waist and holds out his other hand. John hastily pockets the slip of paper and as he shakes Mike's hand he can see the branching, white lines that travel up his arms, vanishing in the sleeves of the shirt he's wearing, only to come out at his neck traveling up to his hairline.

“Pleased to meet you,” Mike says with a smile, even as his eyes stay suspicious. “What can we do for you?”

“You're, you're Michael Crew?”

“Mike, please.”

“Oh I – I was looking for you.”

Mike raises an eyebrow at him. “Huh- why?”

John glances at Martin for a second, but Martin seems pretty unperturbed by everything. “Just following up on some leads. You've been showing up in some statements and I- have some questions?”

“Of course,” Mike sighs. “Martin told me a bit about your work.” He gives him a quick smile that Martin returns. “It's how we met. Perhaps I should thank you for that.” His clear blue eyes return to John.

“I- err, you're welcome?” Seeing Martin still throws him off, especially with how close he seems to be with Mike Crew.

“Oh, do you want to come in?” Martin offers and Mike nods.

“Right, sorry where are my manners.”

John looks around for a second, because that feeling he's been having the entire day – like someone is watching – is back and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. For a moment he thinks he sees a figure vanishing around the corner, but that might just be his paranoia speaking.

“I – err, yes. Thank you.”

The flat is relatively small and the door opens directly into the living room. It's not what he expected from someone tied to a power that deals in vast spaces. Then again he didn't expect Martin Blackwood either. It's tidy but the comfortable. In the middle of the room a large, comfortable couch stands with two equally comfy looking seats standing on the opposite side of a small, wooden table.

“Do you want some tea?” Mike offers, but John doesn't really feel like it, he's still wired from his earlier encounter with Jude Perry and lack of sleep and the feeling like he's being followed. He isn't sure he wants to stay to long, even as Martin turns hopeful eyes on him.

“Err- thanks, but not at the moment.”

“You're sure?” Martin asks and there is a crease on his forehead that always appears when he is worried.

“I'm fine, Martin, honestly.”

“Okay,” Martin says slowly and turns to Mike, “I'd like one though,” he says and Mike looks fondly at him.

“I'll make one then,” he says and vanishes behind the door to the side, where a corridor is leading to the kitchen.

Once he is out there is an uncomfortable silence stretching between them. John wasn't prepared for this and a multitude of questions tumble through his mind. Martin seems equally unprepared to see him, but he recovers faster, going into autopilot for fussing.

“How have you been?”

“Fine,” John lies and Martin's eyes flicker to his burnt hand and over his shabby clothes. John tries to smooth out a wrinkle on the day old trousers he's wearing, to not much avail. He must look a mess. “I'm fine. Just a bit busy.”

“With following up statements?” Martin asks, his brows creased.

“Yes, I- We're a bit understaffed at the moment,” he keeps lying, even though this isn't exactly a lie. He's got only Tim left these days, if he ever makes his way back alive to the Archives, and Tim hates his guts, for good reasons. Martin flinches and averts his eyes at the unspoken and unmeant insinuation and it immediately makes him feel bad, but Martin catches himself.

“How are the others? Sasha and Tim?” he asks and John visibly flinches and it only deepens the worried crease on Martin's face.

“I- They're- Sasha-” John stops himself, tries to focus on unclenching the fists his hands have balled into. “I'm sorry,” he says flatly, hoping Martin will drop it.

“What do you mean?” Martin asks and his facial expression moves from confusion to realization to pain. “Oh,” he says softly and takes a shuddering breath. “Is- how-” Martin tries and shakes his head. “Is Tim-”

“He's alive,” John says. At least he was the last time John had talked to Melanie. That's all there is to say about it, really. “Martin, how are you?” He asks, hoping to distract both of them.

Martin glances quickly at the door to the side and a small, happy smile creeps up his face, brightening up the sadness covering it just seconds before. “Good,” he says. “Really good.”

“That's – good to hear,” John finds himself saying. “How- how did you... how did you end up here?” he finds himself asking his thoughts sorting themselves out slowly.

Martin rubs the back of his back, looking a bit sheepish. “You remember that statement you had me looking into? The one from Herbert Knox. Number.. Uhh...9-9-8-1-”

“Yes,” John says quickly. All too well.

“I looked into it and I found this address and met Mike?”

“You never said,” John says and tries to keep the accusation out of his voice, probably not entirely successful.

“He asked me not to. It seemed impolite to just hand his address over?” Martin points out, sounding defensive. John wants to pinch the bridge of his nose, but refrains from it.

“I see,” he mutters. “Martin, you- you are aware-”

It’s just as well that Mike Crew comes back into the room a cup of tea cradled in his hands. He smiles at Martin who smiles sweetly back at him. John feels a bit out of place, it doesn’t help that the feeling of being followed hasn’t faded entirely. He glances over to the window as if he could actually see someone lurking outside, so when Mike sets down the tea cup he nearly flinches.

Mike’s eyes flicker over to him. “You're sure we can't get you a cup of tea”

“Uh, it- it's fine, really.”

“Okay, you just seem a bit.. jumpy is all,” Martin adds from his side.

“Oh, I just, er... coming in, I thought.. It's fine.”

Mike coughs, tilts his head to squint at John. “Grand. Er, okay, what can I do for you?”

John takes a deep breath. “You… There was, there was a book? Er, two of them, at least. Er… Ex Altiora, The Boneturner’s Tale.” He tries for more subtle words but fails, so he jumps right in, “You, uh, I think you threw a guy off a skyscraper in Paris.”

Martin next to lets out a quiet, “Must you.”

Mike hums. “Last chance for that cup of tea.”

“I... Where did you get that scar?”

“John,” Martin admonishes and Mike sighs.

“And I was trying so hard to be polite,” he says and John feels all air being dragged from his lungs and his body plunged into a free fall, as Mike keeps calmly on talking. “Hard, isn’t it, trying to ask prying questions at terminal velocity?” Through the rush of the wind in his ears he can barely make out the rest of Mike’s words. Wind that shouldn’t be there, that logically can’t be there, no matter what his body is telling him. He tries to scream but no sound comes out, not at that speed he is falling and falling and falling.

Finally Martin quietly says, “Mike, I think it’s enough. He’s learned his lesson.” He turns to John who feels his fall stop abruptly, though it still feels like he’s being dangled over a ledge, still in danger of being dropped again at any second. “You’ve learned it, haven’t you, John?” Martin asks him and John nods weakly.

“See!” Martin says enthusiastically, beaming up at Mike, who gives him an amused look even as he sighs again.

“Very well.” When his eyes return to John, it feels like he is being pulled away from the ledge and he starts gasping for air frantically. “Don’t,” Mike says warningly, “do that again.”

He is still out of breath to do much more than frantically shake his head and take gulping in air through his mouth. Mike sits down opposite of him and watches him for a moment, cocking his head in consideration.

“My scar, wasn’t it?” he muses as he begins to give his statement. “Always the scar. Ironic, in some ways, because that was one the few marks that was only really ever physical.” And so Mike gives him a statement after all, while Martin settles himself comfortably on the other end of the couch, listening intently. There are a few times John would like to ask something, but every time he so much as opens his mouth the feeling of being dangled over a precipice returns.

Finally Mike comes to a stop in his story.

“Hm. You know, that was... that was nice. I’m not, not usually the sort for speeches. That was… pleasant change.”

Martin doesn't comment on his boyfriend's calm admission of murder or that he couldn't even quite remember. Instead he asks, “More tea anyone?”

Mike smiles at him sweetly. “That would be lovely, dear.”

“John? You?”

“Err, yes, please,” he says slowly.

The moment Martin is through the door to the kitchen, Mike turns to him and his eyes are as endless as the sky. “Off you go, before he comes back,” he says. There are still questions John has and despite his better judgement considers asking them. “I, er... You-” earns him only another sharp look.

“Archivist. Take my mercy and leave. You have touched something few ever walk away—

There is a knock at the door and Mike's forehead creases. “I thought you said you came alone?” he says as he gets up and walks towards the door.

“I did, I -” John gets to say before Mike opens the door and then there is chaos for a moment.

“Detect… Detective?”

“Shut up,” she says, gesturing at the body at her feet with the gun in her hand. “He human?”

John just stares at her, his heart pounding in his chest, desperately going through his options here. “What?”

“Is this man human?”

“I... Er, no, I, I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

Her face twists in disgust. “Right. What does it do?”

Martin is still in the kitchen and John tries not to think of what might happen if he comes back and they’re still here. The faster he gets Daisy out the saver it is for him. He can’t risk another assistant. Another friend.

So he answers her and prays she does whatever she has to do and leaves as quickly as she has made her entrance.

“Has he killed people?”

”Er, y-y-yes. Yes, a few, I think.”

“Does he need to see you to do it? Does he need to speak?”

“I-I-I don’t know.”

He realises his mistake the second he answers. Daisy kicks at Mike’s head, several times, hard. “Doubt he can do it in a coma. Now turn that off, and tell me where the other one is. Don't try to run.” John feels sick to his stomach. He has no intention of running, but he'd rather not tell her about Martin. Before he can make any decision though there is a clatter coming from the side door. Daisy wheels into the direction of the kitchen, her gun aimed at Martin, who stands there frozen, shattered tea set at his feet as he stares at Mike.

“Don’t,” John yells out desperately.

“Shut up!” She snaps back her aim never wavering. “Who are you?”

Martin is still staring at Mike, ignoring her question. “Is he- did you kill him,” Martin asks, voice trembling.

“Not yet,” Daisy warns, before addressing John again. “Is this another one of those?”

“No, no! He's one of my assistants. He’s human. He never hurt anyone- just please-”

She snorts. “Yeah sure, he seems right at home in this freak’s flat. And you’re telling me he is innocent?” Martin flinches at the word freak and his eyes slowly focus on her.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing you said- or did,” he says in a voice that John knows from countless spider lectures. And then the world tilts and Daisy gasps as if all air is being stolen from her lungs. The gunshot rings through the absolute stillness that seems to have befallen the world temporarily, and then she just stands there like she’s been locked in place. Like she’s falling at terminal velocity.

John’s hand dig into the carpet as he is being dangled over a precipice again and air is pulled from his lungs.

“And no, I’m not,” Martin says calmly as he walks forward and picks the gun from her grip. “Human that is, not entirely.” There is no regret in his voice at all.

John tries to gulp in air, still futilely grasping at the short fiber of the carpet, as Martin passes by him and kneels down next to Mike's unmoving body. He touches Mike's shoulder carefully with a trembling hand and then fumbles to get out his phone.

“Hello? Yes- I- I need an ambulance? I- right, could you- could you connect me to Sarah Fairchild please. This is- I'm with Mike Crew. Thank you.” A few moments pass in which Martin grips his phone tightly, his knuckles white. With every passing second John feels more nauseous from the impression of not quite falling. “Sarah? Hi, I- Mike he- there is a woman here who hurt him and he isn't moving, just please hurry.” Martin hesitates for a moment and his eyes flicker over to where Daisy is still falling forever. “And send a clean-up team.”

After that he let's the phone drop to the floor, runs a hand through his hair, before resting it carefully on Mike's arm.

“Martin,” John finally manages to gasp out and the world tilts a bit more as Martin looks at him.

“Did you lead her here?” Martin asks and John can see the tears in his eyes. He feels himself yanked back from the edge far enough that he can breathe and speak again properly.

“No, no. I didn't. I thought- I didn't. Martin, I swear.”

Martin stares at him for a long moment and then wipes his eyes. “Okay,” he mutters, “I believe you.” And just like that the feeling of almost falling dissipates. “You should leave now.”

John shakily gets himself up, clutching at the couch to steady himself. “I- err, yes,” he says and almost careens into Daisy. “What- What about her?” He carefully steps away from Daisy and closer to the door. Her eyes are wide and unseeing.

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Martin says. “Not ever again.”

And then she hits the ground.

The impact shakes the entire house. There is a spray of blood, some drops hitting his face and clothes and where Daisy stood before there is only a mangled mess of bones and blood and meat that doesn't resemble a person in the slightest.

John stumbles back against the door, a scream stuck in his throat.

“Leave, Archivist,” Martin says quietly. “Leave and never come back here or near us again.” There is a moment of vertigo gripping him again, a last warning, the kind he now knows is all Martin. It's only there for a second and John hurries out of the door, leaving behind what once was his assistant.

 

Basira finds him only hours later.

  


  



End file.
